Dead Man Walking
by lemonowls
Summary: When John finds Sherlock in a vaguely uncomfortable state of unconsciousness and everything gets a little messy.
1. Chapter 1

**Don't read if you are easily upset, it may get emotional/a bit dark, I have a habit for these things...**

**Thank you.**

The Dead Man Walking

The wind screamed through the less than stable window pane and into the dimly lit sitting room where John was currently sitting, absently scrolling through the newest comments on his blog, none of which were of particular interest. All except Mrs Hudson's apparent fascination with John's latest 'romantic interest' as she kept so aptly putting it. He quietly clicked the lid shut and sighed, leaning back in his chair. His thoughts almost automatically turned to the man he currently shared his home with who had been asleep all day, or so John presumed. To be honest he hadn't actually seen him. Hopefully he hadn't died overnight. John shifted slightly, maybe he should actually go and check. But then again the thought of snooping unsettled him and really was it so unusual for Sherlock to sleep all day? But he did usually come and at least throw some sort of insult his way. It's only when he's feeling really down that John wouldn't see him at all. Maybe he was in trouble. Really it would be better to check.

John went on in this manner for far too long before settling on the decision to knock. A decision that still didn't stop him feeling a little jittery as he made his way through the cluttered kitchen. Snooping just wasn't something he was entirely comfortable with.

Nevertheless he made it to the door. He knocked briskly, there was no response.

John called, knocking again. There was still no response. Maybe he was prying.

This thought caused him to hesitate, reconsidering. There was a soft muttering from inside.

John very slowly opened the door, not wanting to see anything he shouldn't. He received no resistance however and so continued intrepidly onwards.

Then immediately wished he hadn't.

Sherlock was sprawled on the floor wearing underwear and half a pair of trousers.

Probably a good idea to intervene then.

John asked warily, taking a step towards him,

Sherlock didn't move.

John hmed to himself, John gingerly crouched down beside the catatonic man and pressed two fingers to his neck. Thankfully he felt a definite pulse. That just led to the question as to why exactly Sherlock was half naked and unconscious on his bedroom floor. One John wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to.

**So this was just a cheeky little teaser for you all, I will be back very soon with an update :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry for the very long wait. I do actually have a lot written up so posts should be quicker for a while, I was just getting my ideas straight etc.**

**Hope you enjoy, any reviews are more than welcome.**

John cleared his throat and sat back on his haunches, "Sherlock. I think I'm going to have to move you. We uh don't want you to uh choke." John hyped himself up for a couple of seconds before efficiently rolling Sherlock onto his side, his head lolling uselessly which prompted John's hand to slide in between it and the carpet. Unfortunately the poorly put on trousers were very restrictive but John wasn't sure he was entirely comfortable with removing them. Hell the less bodily contact the better.

John heard someone enter the apartment, "Be there in a minute Mrs Hudson!"  
He sighed and reached forwards, his fingertips hovering over the tangled material.

_You're a doctor John. Man up. _

John heard Mrs Hudson begin to move through to the kitchen.

"Just. Hold on a second."  
John took a deep breath, "Fine." He muttered to himself and began to untangle the material. Sherlock as always being thoroughly useless.

John felt someone standing in the doorway, "Mrs Hudson this isn't-" He stopped short when he caught sight of the figure in the doorway. One thing was certain, it certainly wasn't Mrs Hudson. Unless she had suddenly shaved her head and started carrying a pistol.

"Who-?"  
The man raised his gun so it was in line with John's head.

John raised his hands and slowly got to his feet, "What do you want."

"Him."

"Him?"  
"Just. Move. Unless you want to finish...whatever this is." He responded with a smarting sneer.

Mistake.

John lunged forwards and knocked the gun from his hand, pushing him back out of the door where he bounced off of the gaily papered wall. With a grunt he dived back towards John who had followed him into the hallway. John side stepped his clumsy attack and slammed the door into the other man's face as he fell. His attacker reeled backwards and John felt a burst of pain as a fist connected with his nose. Now it was John's turn to grunt as he stumbled back into the kitchen, clutching at his face. He only had a second to register the blood on his hands before his attacker barrelled into him again, knocking him into the table and spilling milk and god knows what everywhere. John spluttered as two large hands began to close around his throat. He felt his own hands begin to sweat as he clawed at the fists that were currently closing off his airways. His vision began to flutter as he felt himself slowly losing purchase on his consciousness. He screwed his eyes shut as his hands began to weaken and slip away from the attackers. Then all at once his vision clicked back into place, just for a second as the man began to wheeze above him. This brief moment of clarity was enough for John to knee the man in the abdomen with enough force to cause him to release his throat and take a few laboured steps backwards. Giving John a chance to catch his breath and realise he had grabbed something from the table in his panic. He didn't have time to consider what this may have been however as the man lurched towards him again. John instinctively brought the newly obtained object up to collide the other man's head where it shattered pleasingly, causing the heavy man he fell to the floor with a shower of glass and a yelp. His face bouncing off the table where John had neatly moved out of the way.

After a second of laboured breathing John managed to transport the much needed oxygen to his brain and gingerly prodded the man with his foot, receiving a pained gurgle.

He smiled slightly through the blood and pulled out his phone, muttering a brief, "Right." before raising it to his ear.

John closed the door softly and leant against it with his eyes screwed shut. God his throat hurt. And how the hell was he going to explain away the bruises? For Gods sake. John sighed which came out as no more than a painful rattle in his throat. God damn Sherlock.

Shit, Sherlock. John pushed himself heavily off of the door and, after picking his way across the broken glass still littering the kitchen, made his way back to the door of Sherlock's room. He took in the slight splatter of blood on the wood before reaching forwards to open the door, his hand freezing mid reach as something shifted inside.

He frowned, "Sherlock?" Again there was no response. With a quick shake of his head, John made his way inside.

Another frown, Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. "Great."

"W-Whe-" Sherlock's oddly quiet voice came from the end of the bed.

"Sherlock?" John stepped slightly further inside.

"John? What-?" Sherlock's hand appeared over the end of the bed as he presumably tried to pull himself up. John heard him struggle for a couple of seconds before his head appeared, "Morning."

John sniffed, winced then responded with a brief, "Afternoon. Actually."

"Right." Something was off about Sherlock's eyes. They had an odd sheen that John found quietly unsettling.

"So..." John paused, leaning against the door frame as he thought about the best way to phrase the obvious question, "How was your morning?"

Sherlock looked genuinely confused for a second before his eyes flicked away from John's "It seems to me you've been in some sort of fight and I am..." Sherlock looked down, "Half naked." He coughed.

"Mm." John shifted his weight over to his other foot, "And are you...okay?"  
Sherlock chewed the inside of his lip for a couple of seconds before shrugging, "In what sense?"  
John cleared his throat, instantly regretted it, then sighed loudly, "Are you hurt? Dying? In need of medical assistance?"

Sherlock lost his grip on the foot of the bed and slipped slightly before regaining balance, "No. Slowly. We'll see."

"We'll see?" John laughed dryly, "Right. Okay. Can you get up?"

Sherlock gripped the bed and began to push himself up, but at some point he seemingly lost grip and plummeted back towards the ground. Hitting his chin with a painfully loud crack and slithering, really quite gracefully John thought, back onto the carpet.

John winced, "No?" He took a moment to recollect himself before cautiously making his way around to where Sherlock had fallen.

Sherlock was clearly unconscious, if the new and quite frankly disturbing angles of his legs were anything to go by. John could clearly see where the blood vessels had broken below his skin and were already mapping out a speckled bruise. He sighed, swallowed painfully and crouched beside him; quickly re-checking his pulse before lightly dusting his fingers over Sherlock's jaw which already swelling and hot to the touch. As a doctor it was his duty to make sure nothing needed immediate assistance but as a friend he had to admit this felt kind of odd.

"Ouch."

John's hand recoiled as if of its own accord, "Good job." He shifted closer slightly, "Here." And tucked an arm under Sherlock's shoulders. He gingerly helped him sit up, watching his face as he did so, "Dizziness?"  
Sherlock blinked blankly back at him.  
"Are. You. Dizzy?" John asked again, more slowly and not without a hint of something more potent.  
It took Sherlock another split second to reply with a particularly useless, "Never better John. Never better."  
"Right. Okay." John frowned, that'll be a no then. Sherlock moved away from him and unsteadily got to his feet. Weirdly resembling some sort of newly born baby animal. John instantly had second thought, "Sherlock are you sure you're okay to-? Aand you're gone." Sherlock had indeed left the room, leaving John to squat in the middle of the floor by himself. Though to be honest he was fleetingly glad, something about having Sherlock touching him was oddly uncomfortable and he really didn't want to deal with that right now.

**Just a warning I think I am going to have to move the rating up to M because we've got some kind of saucy stuff coming up. I shall keep you all posted. Thanks.**


	3. Chapter 3

It took John a good five minutes to make his way back out of Sherlock's room. It seemed like as good a chance as any to make sure he wasn't in for another 'danger night' though of course he already suspected Sherlock had slipped. Both figuratively and literally. He absently noted the fact that Sherlock must be in the bathroom and frowned at the pang of relief this brought him. Sherlock wasn't that bad. Sure they hadn't had a 'real' case in as many days, though he suspected this may have just changed, but something had shifted this time. He couldn't determine what but their was just something different between them. Maybe it was the fact that Sherlock didn't seem to be able to support his own weight, that was certainly new.

John suddenly realised that the kitchen was no longer littered with glass. Technically that was evidence so really it shouldn't have been touched.

"Hello?" Obviously Sherlock hadn't cleaned up so that means someone else had.

"Afternoon John."

John relaxed slightly as he recognised the clipped tone of Mycroft Holmes.

"Do stop hovering in the kitchen."

He did as he was told and took his usual seat opposite Sherlock's which Mycroft was currently sat in.

"I see you met with a friend of my brothers." Mycroft noted sullenly, "Don't worry about the 'evidence' we know exactly who was here." He paused, watching John silently for a second.

"Okay?" John shifted under his gaze, "Who?"

"I'm sure you've noticed something...unusual about my brother today have you not?" They both turned towards the bathroom as something banged from the inside. Mycroft cleared his throat, "I'm afraid he may have slipped back into old habits. How long has it been since your last 'case' together?"

"Uh." John hesitated, "About three, maybe four, weeks?"

"Four. Now I'm sure you know as well as I do that my brother finds it...difficult...to be without any real 'purpose' if you will. So I'm here to request that you keep an eye on him. I'm sure you don't want any other incidents of this kind after all." Mycroft's head flicked to his left as the shower switched off, "Well that's my cue."

"Okay. It was uh..." John frowned slightly, "I'll keep an eye on Sherlock."

Mycroft was already by the door, "See that you do." He span back as he stood in the doorway, "Oh and the cigarettes are in the skull."  
And with that he was gone. John took a second to consider how long Sherlock would be and upon deciding he had enough time, quickly crossed to the mantle piece and gingerly flipped over the skull. Sure enough there were a number of cigarette packets hidden in the hollowed out interior. John pocketed these and made his way back to his chair just as Sherlock emerged.

He hovered in the hallway for a second before heading back into his room. John peered after him from under his hand.

"Put them back."

John smiled, "It's for your own good Sherlock."

He received no other response beyond Sherlock slamming the door behind him.

John spent the day burning off the majority of the cigarettes before realising just how long it would take to air the apartment out and how triggering it would be if he didn't. So the rest of the day was spent opening every window he could find, hiding the remainder of the cigarettes in his sock draw and shivering.

Of course when Sherlock came home he immediately twigged what he had been doing and gave him an odd look before heading towards his bedroom, where he stayed for the rest of the evening. To be honest though John was curious as to what the hell he was doing in there. Plus it was only right to make sure he hadn't passed out again anything so he decided to intervene.

"Sherlock." John tapped his knuckle against Sherlock's bedroom door, "I'm making tea. Do you want some?"

There was a muffled response from inside.

"What was that?" John leant in a little closer.

He heard the bed springs squeak and before he could move Sherlock and wrenched open the door, causing him to topple inwards slightly, "Yes. Please. Now leave."

"You know I'm not obligated to-" The door slammed in his face, "Make you a bloody cup of tea."  
But they both knew he would anyway. It was customary.

John was still muttering to himself as he flung open the door, tea in hand, "Sh-" Sherlock was asleep on top of the covers. Nothing to unusual sure, exempting the fact that he was completely naked, "-it." John finished aptly. He did however continue to stare at the gentle curve of Sherlock's spine for perhaps far longer than is actually necessary. Noting just how slim he had gotten, his shoulder blades jutted out his lightly scared skin and gave way to a neatly spaced line of protruding vertebrae that led down to- John blushed and winced as a shot of pain darted from his hand causing the mug to fall and splinter on impact.

"Bugger."

Sherlock murmured, rolling onto his back.

This caused something to stir in John's gut as he caught sight of his newly revealed flesh which only served to heighten the blush that already coloured his cheeks. He sniffed and distracted himself by bending down to scoop up the remnants of china from amongst the slowly settling stain.

"Mm, John?" Sherlock's voice trickled lazily towards him, causing him to jump and cut his finger on one of the shards.

He glanced up quickly, not really knowing what else to do.

Sherlock stretched apparently not realising, or perhaps caring just how compromising his current situation was.

John stuck the bleeding finger in his mouth as he felt his heart rate quicken. Hopefully Sherlock was still at least half asleep and hadn't really clocked that he was here. He focused his attention back on the shards, wanting to get out of there as quickly as humanly possible without leaving any evidence and had just began to consider the stain as he heard Sherlock sigh and, judging by the following rustling of the sheets, roll back into another position.

John took this as his chance to collect the rest of the debris and got to his feet, feeling instantly relieved that things hadn't gone any worse.

"John."

His heart plummeted as he realised just how unnervingly clear Sherlock's had become. He cleared his throat whilst still facing the open doorway, "Sherlock?"

"What time is it?"

John shifted, "I'm not sure, late?"

"Mm." Sherlock shifted again.

"Okay...well goodnight." John made to leave the room, handful of tea leading the way.

"John." Sherlock's voice had suddenly taken on a breathy quality.

John's breathing quickened, "What?"

"Don't think I'm not flattered." John's hand closed around the shattered china, "Quite the opposite."

"Sherlock, I have a hand full of tea it this going somewhere?"

The sheets rustled softly again and Sherlock sighed deeply.

John took the opportunity to sneak a quick glance at Sherlock again. He was tucked up onto his side facing John but was obviously asleep. He breathed a sigh of relief and strode from he room, gently pulling the door to behind him.

**So yeah, I'm not sure how happy I am with this chapter. It may be updated in the near future so keep your eyes peeled.** **Thanks for sticking 'round :)**


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